Chapter 70: Afterstory & Prequel – 12: It’s Just a Drawing

“If possible, I would have shown you the real thing, but… Oh, wait, the real thing is already right here in front of us, isn’t it?”

Nakano muttered something incomprehensible as she placed her iPhone in the middle of the desk and began operating it.

What appeared on the screen was…

“First, here’s this. Let’s go in chronological order. This is the first time Nakano ever saw Kyugo-senpai, from the window of the art room that day.”

“Uh…”

“Yes, Kyugo-senpai. It’s a drawing. A pencil sketch Nakano made.”

“Wh-what…?”

“Not ‘what,’ it’s a drawing. A pencil sketch of Kyugo-senpai, Nakano’s prince, from when he was in the second year of middle school.”

“Who… is this?”

“It’s Kyugo-senpai, of course.”

It was a hyper-realistic drawing, almost indistinguishable from a black-and-white photograph. However, it was clearly too idealized to depict a real person.

Because the man in the uniform, supposedly me, was portrayed brushing back his bangs while gazing off into the distance. I’d been shaving my head since the first year of middle school—there was no way I had bangs. My eyelashes weren’t that long. I had pimples back then; my skin wasn’t this smooth. And there’s no way I had this kind of lean, muscular build—this body type is something I’ve only just managed to achieve now.

And most importantly, I wasn’t wearing a uniform on the middle school baseball field. I was playing for an external baseball team. There’s no way this scene ever existed in real life.

This scenario exists solely in the mind of this cool, artistic girl…!

“What do you think, Kyugo-senpai? Everyone? Looking back now, I notice some clumsy areas, which is a little embarrassing, but this was Nakano’s best effort at the time.”

“Uh… well… Yeah, I mean, the skill is amazing…”

I somehow managed to squeeze out a response. The onlookers around us were left speechless, their mouths agape. Maika, meanwhile, had a strained expression, utterly at a loss for words. The future fifth goalkeeper’s smartphone camera captured all of our reactions. He might suck at soccer, but his camera work was impeccable.

“To be praised by the model himself, Nakano is deeply honored. Let’s move on to the next one.”

Nakano, satisfied, nodded and swiped the screen.

The next image to appear was another pencil sketch. And again, it was supposedly of me—or something resembling me.

“This depicts the time when Kyugo-senpai and Nakano first spoke directly. It was when Kyugo-senpai was in his second year, and Nakano was in her first. Perhaps it was around then that Nakano started becoming conscious of Kyugo-senpai.”

“It’s… really well-drawn.”

That was all I could say. Because it was well-drawn. But it was of a scene I had no memory of, with a version of me that didn’t exist.

The picture showed a clean-cut boy with short black hair, drawn from the perspective of someone looking up at him. Judging by the composition, it seemed to be from the viewpoint of the person being princess-carried by this unfamiliar version of me.

“Thank you. This scene depicts the time during preparations for the cultural festival exhibit. Nakano stumbled while carrying one of the works, and Kyugo-senpai immediately came to the rescue, lifting Nakano in his strong arms. Not only that, but he scolded the advisor for making frail Nakano do heavy lifting. From then on, Senpai took over all the physical labor. It was incredibly cool.”

Nakano gazed dreamily into the distance.

Well, to be fair, it’s true that I did most of the heavy lifting for the art club. There wasn’t much else I could do as a member, so I figured I’d help out in whatever way I could. If it meant helping Maika or Riko, I’d do it a hundred times over. In fact, I’m pretty sure I even volunteered to the advisor to handle all the heavy tasks as the only male member, and they were all too happy to accept. After I graduated, the job was passed on to my junior from the Little Seniors league, Miyashita. I wonder if Nakano even noticed his existence.

And, most importantly, I have never—not once in my life—princess-carried anyone other than Maika or Riko.

Thinking back, though… Yeah, I guess there was a time I caught a junior girl when she was about to trip. I vaguely remember Maika giving me a piercing glare during that scene.

Also—and this is nitpicking, but still—if this was the event that made Nakano start noticing me, what’s the deal with that first drawing of “Kyugo-senpai as seen for the first time”? If she wasn’t even conscious of me yet, why would she have been drawing me? The timeline doesn’t make sense.

It’s like her mind has rewritten actual history, turning it into a fantasy story about her imagined prince. And the scariest part is, she doesn’t seem aware of it.

“Everyone seems awestruck by Kyugo-senpai’s overwhelming princeliness. Nakano is feeling inspired now. Allow me to share more beautiful and sweet episodes of Nakano and Kyugo-senpai.”

And so Nakano’s live-action picture book continued. Somewhere along the way, it started feeling like a stand-up comedy act. She even started imitating my voice in some kind of “prince” persona.

But every story was grossly exaggerated—or rather, beautified to an absurd degree. The worst part? They weren’t completely false. That’s what made them so insidious.

For example, the tale of me, the handsome and charming protagonist, praising her artwork above all else. She claimed I was the first to recognize her misunderstood talent, but that’s completely wrong. The only reason I even visited the art room or the exhibit was to see my sisters’ work. Back when I was in my second year, only Maika was in the club, and I was too embarrassed to directly compliment her work, so I probably just praised some random piece to deflect. At the time, I was going through an awkward phase, as most teenagers do. Not that I’m still in that phase or anything. Nope.

Apparently, Nakano had been secretly observing me during those times, already conscious of me.

And honestly, Nakano’s art is so good that I’m sure others must have recognized it, too. It feels like she’s twisting her own talent and reputation just to make me seem like her one and only savior.

Then we moved on to episodes from when I was in my third year and Nakano was in her second.

There was a story about how I supposedly defended the art club from the jocks who mocked them, logically and cynically dismantling their arguments in some kind of epic Twitter-worthy showdown. Nakano claimed she overheard it and was so moved by her “prince” standing up for her that she ended up drawing another picture.

Of course, the truth is much less noble. At the time, I thought they were insulting Riko, so I snapped. I get angry if anyone disrespects Riko even a little. There was nothing logical or cynical about it—I just emotionally lashed out and silenced them with sheer aggression. There’s no such thing as a “cynical, princely hothead.”

And yet Nakano drew me in that scene as if I were some sweat-free, cool-headed handsome high school boy straight out of a BL-inspired Twitter story. I’ve said this before, but I didn’t have bangs. What I had was foreskin. That’s all.

Even when I pointed this out, Nakano would say things like, “How humble of you. Yes, Kyugo-senpai doesn’t try to show off his coolness. He saves Nakano from the shadows without letting anyone notice. But Nakano noticed—your tsundere prince kindness, and my growing feelings for you.”

Who is this Kyugo-senpai she’s talking about?

“And that concludes the story of how Nakano and Kyugo-senpai met. Any questions?”

Nakano asked this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I had a million questions, but none I could expect a reasonable answer to.

Even the peanut gallery fell silent, except for the pseudo-goalkeeper muttering, “Is this like an art auction? If there’s a physical version of that drawing, I’d pay 2,000 yen for it.” I kicked him in the shin to shut him up. He didn’t shut up, so I ignored him.

“Nakano would never sell Kyugo-senpai’s image. However, since this is a special occasion, I’ll reveal a new piece. The title is ‘The Future.’”

“What?”

“It’s a drawing, Kyugo-senpai. Here it is.”

“Wait… What are you showing now!?”

Even Maika, who had been in stunned silence this whole time, raised her voice as soon as the image appeared. And honestly, yeah—what the hell is this?

Displayed on Nakano’s iPhone was a pencil drawing of a naked man, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, winking. Supposedly, it was me—or something resembling me.

“This is a depiction of Nakano and Kyugo-senpai’s first night together.”

“5,000 yen.”

“Shut up, fake goalkeeper.”

This guy was absurdly handsome. His proportions and bone structure didn’t resemble mine in the slightest. Honestly, no Japanese guy except maybe Shohei Otani could look like this. His body was muscular yet extremely lean, with an unrealistically low body fat percentage. It was way too shredded—no baseball player could perform with a body like that.

And most damningly, there was no foreskin. Not a trace.

He was fully exposed, yet his penis was smooth and somehow elegant, devoid of any vulgarity. I guess it’s because there was no body hair. Everything was completely clean and polished.

“Everyone, do you understand now? This is Nakano’s ideal prince—Kyugo-senpai. Please stop spreading false rumors that tarnish his image.”

So that’s what this was all about.

Nakano started noticing me over some minor incident, then filtered everything she saw of me through a “prince” lens, letting her imagination run wild. Over time, she built an idealized version of “Kyugo-senpai” in her mind, and that’s what she clings to.

Honestly, this is disturbing. But then again…

I’ve seen plenty of people, both guys and girls, fall into this kind of obsessive, idealized love. It’s not just a puberty thing, either. Adults do this too—fall in love with celebrities, create delusions about them, and sometimes even act out when reality doesn’t align with their fantasies. It’s been all over the news.

When I think of it that way, Nakano’s delusions aren’t all that strange. What sets her apart is her ability to turn those delusions into art, and the nerve to show them off to others.

Still… She barely interacted with me in middle school. Why is she suddenly so proactive now?

Oh, right. She said it was because of the misunderstandings being cleared up. That the rumors from middle school were proven false. In other words… the rumor about my “excessive foreskin” being untrue.

Yeah.

Yeah…

Yeah… but that’s not a rumor. It’s 100% true. I’m absolutely covered. My foreskin is abundant and hairy, nothing like the smooth, peeled ideal in Nakano’s head. It’s grotesque, even at full size.

“Kyugo-senpai, you can rest easy now.”

Nakano looked up at me with her usual cool expression, but her face was tinged with an unusual flush as she said,

“Nobody will speak ill of you anymore. Nakano won’t allow it. Please remain the wonderful prince I admire. Nakano will do her utmost to become a woman worthy of you.”

She declared this with unwavering determination.

This is… too much. Far, far too much.